A Different Person Yesterday
by Jabberwock Mondays
Summary: After the war, Daphne Greengrass, who has lost nearly everything, is given a mission: to travel back and use her knowledge of events to create an alternate timeline where the Second Wizarding War never happens. She must start by changing the life of seventeen year old Severus Snape. Full canon compliant, DH spoilers, Marauders era.
1. A Brief Beginning

**Disclaimer: **Anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. I recieve no profit from this work.

Chapter One: A Brief Beginning

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore paced the length of his frame in the empty Headmistress's office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was the August 1998, three months after the Final Battle of the Second Wizarding War and the fall of Voldemort. Soon, students would be returning to the nearly rebuilt school either for the first time or to repeat their previous year's education, hopefully with more success than was had under the Dark Lord's regime. To any witnesses, the painted figure stalking from corner to corner of the picture frame would seem unusually restless, eyes lacking their usual jovial twinkle and instead sharp with impatience. He had firmly requested the absence of the other portraits and Minerva McGonagall herself for this meeting, and now it would seem the former student in question was late.

Yes, things had changed at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world at large. The community had suffered many deaths in the final battle, perhaps too many to ever properly recover. Fatalities on every side, Light and Dark alike. Of the Death Eaters and their affiliates, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Marcus Flint, Antonin Dolhov, Bellatrix Lestrange, and many others, though a sizable remainder were left to be sentenced to lifetime internment in Azkaban. Of the faculty, Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra were both lost, and Albus had overheard Minerva was having a devil of a time replacing them. Recently graduated and students –Lavender Brown, Penelope Clearwater, Ritchie Coote, Colin Creevey, Tracey Davis, Helen Dawlish, Marietta Edgecombe, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Parvati Patil, Cormac McLaggen—little more than children who were not supposed to have been present, had fought bravely and paid with their lives. Of the Order and its allies, Gabrielle Delacour, Viktor Krum, Nymphadora Lupin, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Charlie Weasley, and Fred Weasley all perished, as well as countless others in innumerable battles beforehand. Including Albus Dumbledore himself, though the portrait of Albus Dumbledore chose not to dwell on the fact.

A knock on the office door pulled the old Headmaster from his thoughts. "Enter," he commanded in a facsimile of his usual cheer, though he felt anything but.

The door was drawn open by a young woman, who shut it firmly behind her the second she was inside. Skinny, trembling, and nearly unrecognizable in muggle attire, she clutched a thread worn utilitarian winter cloak in her thin hands, clearly meant to conceal her over large jumper—which was so ugly that it could have been a Weasley castoff—and stained jeans tucked into beaten, brown leather hiking boots. She dressed for warmth though it was a seasonable and pleasant summer, and the dirt caked on her shoes spoke of rough living. The woman herself had a long straggle of pale blonde hair, unkempt and limp. Her face was lined well beyond her years, stamped with the sort of tiredness usually reserved for the sick and elderly. Despite the deep purple shadows surrounding them and the gauntness of her features, her eyes were an icy blue and haughty. They also burned with a barely concealed rage.

"Ah! Welcome," Dumbledore did his best to twinkle at her while directing her to a seat next to the Headmistress's desk and facing his portrait, "As you are aware, I have quite the proposal for you, Miss Greengrass."


	2. A Portrait's Plan

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. I receive no profit from this work

Chapter Two: A Portrait's Plan

_"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then" Lewis Carroll._

Daphne Greengrass, though only nineteen, knew the look of horror that flitted across Albus Dumbledore's face, just as she knew she looked nearly thirty, and it had startled the former Headmaster most severely. She felt a vindictive pleasure rise within her that the leader of the Light could see what he and his allies had done to her, forced away any cruel beauty she'd had in favour of stress and fear for her life. She bottled the anger, forced it back down, and politely declined the proffered chair with a coldness she had worked so hard to perfect in her school days but no longer really felt. Her insides burned with rage now.

She instead faced the portrait with a stare she could barely keep steady and fists shaking in hardly controlled anger. However, her voice was even when she replied, "I'm aware you have a proposition for me, but I'm not some sort of 'noble Slytherin' who will do your dirty work. Call Potter or a Weasley, your bloody precious Gryffindors. I'm not a _war hero_," she sneered the words, "And I won't help you."

"Miss Greengrass," Dumbledore spoke with a serene calm, and it made her want to hex his frame clean off the wall. "I would ask you to hear my proposal before making a rash decision. The fate of the wizarding world could depend on you," he coaxed.

She snorted, "Well, if it's the fate of the wizarding world, you'd better choose a different Chosen One, someone who wants the fame. Like Potter." She could hear the arrogance in her own voice, but truly all she really wanted was a sandwich and a lie down. Oh, and to end the conversation.

Dumbledore seemed to sense this. "Miss Greengrass, if you take the time to listen to my proposition, I will allow you to raid the Hogwarts kitchen unimpeded and have Madame Pomfrey heal your bruises and sore muscles." She was tempted, and she knew he knew it. Pretending otherwise seemed a lost cause, so she sank warily into the proffered chair and bit her tongue against her anger and any spiteful reply. The former Headmaster nodded, "Very well.

"There will be no fame or glory as a consequence of this venture, as it must involve the utmost secrecy in order to change the course of events forever." She sneered but said nothing, and he continued quite frankly, "The wizarding world is dying. So many fatalities, so much destruction at the hands of Tom Riddle-"

Daphne flinched slightly, hoping he would not notice.

"-That there is no hope of repair. Our civilization cannot recover from the Second Wizarding War. We may rebuild, we may reproduce, but the truth is that we are dwindling and will eventually become extinct. Our society is in chaos, and it is too late to change the future." He stared at her gravely over his half moon spectacles.

His words had left her feeling cold, numb, and so small, bereft of the fire within her moments before. "Then what am I supposed to do?" She asked with unease, knowing the information just presented to her would not be the worst part of the proposal. That had yet to come.

He looked at her with softening blue eyes as if he understood all her problems, and this only strengthened her suspicion. "On the Headmistress's desk," he motioned with his hand, "Is a box." She looked around but could only find what appeared to be an ornately carved wooden block the size of a matchbox sitting atop the parchments. She picked it up carefully between her thumb and forefinger, shooting the portrait a wary glance. He only nodded. "Please return it to its original size."

She placed the box back on the desk, pulling her wand from within the folds of her cloak. "_Engorgio_," she murmured, and the block began to grow. When it did not stop, she thought perhaps she had preformed the spell wrong and panicked slightly, but a sideways look at the Headmaster told her that this was not unexpected. When the mahogany box had become the size of a large chest, the spell ceased. She turned back to the portrait.

"Inside is everything you will need," he said to what must have been an inquiring look. Against her own will, she could not quite feel disinterested, and without asking permission, used her wand to levitated the now heavy chest to the floor beside her.

Kneeling before it, she traced over the elegant carvings and inlays of the lid, experiencing a slight tingle in her fingertips which she realized must be ancient magic. The chest was older than her, easily much more so than Dumbledore himself. For a moment, greed clouded her eyes as she compared her dingy clothing to the latch made of gold, but it dissipated as soon as it came, replaced by her previous perverse anger towards the former Headmaster.

If he noticed the array of emotions she flipped through, he made no mention of it. Instead, he asked in a conversational tone, "You remained neutral during the war?" He steepled his fingers as he had in real life and leaned forward in his frame, deceptively interested.

As she had earlier, Daphne snorted in an unladylike matter, a parody of the disdainful sniff she remembered her mother using years ago. "I suppose so." Avoiding his eyes, she returned to examining the chest. The corners were covered in what appeared to be gold filigree, and when she touched them, they seemed to hum with latent power.

"You never attended your seventh year at Hogwarts," the former Headmaster wheedled, apparently attempting to draw her out. She sighed and glared up at the portrait. Dumbledore wore the tranquil smile of the doddering old fool so many Slytherins had always assumed him to be.

"No," she grated out between gritted teeth, "I did not." Once again, she pointedly directed her attention to the chest. The asinine man was pulling apart her cool facade piece by piece. When no reply appeared forthcoming, she glanced at the portrait out of the corner of her eye, wondering what game the former Headmaster was playing with her. Hadn't he and his band of reckless heroes put her through enough? They had only thought of winning the war, not of the price. Especially to price paid by those who did not have the luxury of being a sheltered Gryffindor.

"I said I would listen to your proposal. I didn't agree to this." She continued heatedly, hatred beginning to bubble inside her, "Besides, I'm sure you already know what happened." She straightened as she said this, rising from the floor and raising her chin at him in challenge.

"Miss Greengrass," the former Headmaster responded soothingly, though his attempts to placate her did nothing but provoke her further, "Your parents went missing during the Christmas holiday of your sixth year, and you and your younger sister never returned to your magical educations. What I am asking you to do will give your entire family another chance-"

She cut him off, her anger reaching its boiling point, "No, there are no more chances. Do you think I am some idiot schoolgirl who can be manipulated so easily by your handouts?" She noticed faintly that she was yelling, but she kept going, "You want to know what happened? My father was a business man, and when the Dark Lord came recruiting Slytherins, he asked for a little time to think it over, to align himself to the more profitable side. The Dark Lord laughed in his face and gave him two weeks to decide, said he was feeling generous." The portrait's eyes held an unreadable expression, so she ploughed ahead, maliciously flinging the words in his face, "And when the Dark Lord came knocking two weeks later, Nicholas and Cynthia Greengrass didn't say anything. They thought they could exploit the situation to their advantage, cater to both sides and still come out on top in a pure, muggle free world. They were wrong. My parents didn't have an answer, and they were killed because of it. But since they were Slytherins, it was no great loss to you, was it? Not a tragedy to the Light. Not even a disappearance worth investigating!

"You want to know where my sister and I have been for the past year and a half?" She could not stop screaming at him, her voice edging towards hysteria in a way she found highly unpleasant. "We were the same place as your fucking Golden Trio: out in the woods, hiding like muggles! And we still are! Do you think I look like this for fun? That I gave up my sister's chances at a normal future because it sounded exciting? There's nothing left for us here, and your so called venture won't be able to give my family another chance."

She was panting heavily, clutching her wand in her sweaty fist as it sparked slightly. The Headmaster would not even look at her. Instead, he replied impassively, "Open the chest."

She had half a mind to blast it open with her trembling wand hand, but instead aimed a vicious kick to open it with her mud caked boot. At the last second, her foot missed, and she found herself kneeling on the ground, drawing open the lid with compelled reverence. She could not hide the shocked look she sent the portrait as the ancient magics refused to let her harm the chest. Once open however, the magic relinquished its hold and allowed her to rifle through the contents unimpeded. What she found at first confused her, but after a moment, her anger resurfaced as she began to understand.

Daphne was still kneeling on the floor and elbow deep in the chest, incredulous at the evidence within, when the portrait of Albus Dumbledore spoke up in an authoritative tone it had not used with her before. "I admit, Miss Greengrass, I did not follow your actions closely as a student, but in your academic file, your professors described you as a quiet, cold girl with a superiority complex who rarely spoke and had far less than acceptable marks in Transfiguration." His words made her feel as though she had been slapped, but he continued as if he had not noticed, "Only the late Professor Snape could acknowledge he may have known you on a more personal level as a member of his own house, but conceded he had taken the mask you wore at face value and overlooked anything deeper in you. He also stated that he had not spoken privately with you since your first year." She stared at him in shock as he recited the frank summary of her school days. "You did receive four O.W.L.s with an Acceptable in Herbology, an Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy, and Outstandings in both Potions and Charms, making you an average student. However, you received a Dreadful in Transfiguration and were not allowed to continue with the course. Throughout your schooling, in fact, you did not draw much attention to yourself and were thought of as shallow, average, and uninteresting by both your peers and professors."

She stared at him, stunned, as he finished his diatribe and surveyed her in a silence that rang with her schoolgirl flaws. Of course, she had known all these things—the typical grades, the awful Transfiguration exam, the icy reticence towards classmates, the anonymity with even her own head of house—but it was almost too much, hearing the superiority in the tone of Albus Fucking Dumbledore as if she was still a haughty child to be talked down to and put in her place. She knew what he saw when he looked at her: a potential Death Eater, exactly what he saw in every other Slytherin student he was either quick to ignore or blame, depending on the situation; a spoiled youth, someone who had never had to work for a meal and knew nothing of real sacrifice. But unlike sodding Albus Dumbledore, she knew for a fact that she would never be either of those things again, and she was reaching her breaking point.

Righteous indignation was the closest she had to self-restraint at the moment, and so she asked, "Why me, then? Why all of this?" She motioned towards the bound stacks of parchment in the chest. "Why keep a trunk full of files on me and," she pulled out a few ledgers at random, reading the titles, "Lily Evans, Frank Longbottom, Fabian Prewett, Andromeda Black, James Potter and," the last one in her hands surprised her most, "Severus Snape?"

The former Headmaster watched closely as her anger turned once again to confusion. Aside from her own, most of the files she held were labelled with the names of well-known dead people. Accusingly, she glared up at the portrait, "What is this?"

Now Dumbledore gazed kindly at her and twinkled for all he was worth: "A way to prevent the war."

How easily he could frustrate her! Daphne turned to a sardonic Slytherin defense to mask her irritation, drawling, "Forgive me if I don't applaud, Headmaster, but perhaps you could elaborate?" She continued to remove the files and stack them on the floor beside her until underneath them she discovered a thick and rather nondescript leather-bound tome. Hauling it out of the chest, she held it up for the portrait to see, raising an eyebrow.

He seemed to have been waiting for this because he dropped all pretense and showmanship as he launched into a lengthy explanation, "The book in your hands contains a meticulous strategic description of both Wizarding Wars, written by myself and Professor McGonagall. It is one of the only two copies in existence, the other belonging to the Headmistress herself. It also contains a complete timeline of events from both sides, including the roles and deaths of hundreds of witches and wizards, chronicled sequentially. With a potion invented by myself and the late Professor Snape, you will be sent back to 1976 in order to alter the current timeline and prevent the Second Wizarding War using this book as well as the detailed individual records of the lives of these people, the knowledge we have now. You will destroy Tom Riddle's horcruxes before he kills the Potters on the thirty-first of October 1981. His rebounded killing curse will destroy him permanently. You will also convince Severus Snape to join the ranks of the Death Eaters as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix from the beginning instead of coming over to the Light in the summer of 1980. Your job is to quietly win the war without altering the timeline too much; make sure the people who must die will and the things that need to happen do." He paused pensively before imparting, "Unfortunately, there is no way to return you to 1998, and your current timeline will be erased."

At some point during the speech, her jaw had dropped, and now she stared at the portrait in dazed silence. The man was absolutely insane. She eventually regained her voice, and her response was both explosively loud and violently angry, "You're barmy! Absolutely barking mad! First, why would I even bloody agree to this? Second, even if it was possible, how do you know it will work?" She dropped the book back into the chest with a resounding and irreverent thud, then began to haphazardly throw the files in after it. "No. No way am I doing this."

"You are not nearly as quiet and apathetic as your academic record lead me to believe, Miss Greengrass," the former Headmaster stated with a hint of displeasure, piercing her with his icy blue gaze. "Unfortunately, you were chosen for this task because you were neutral and unremarkable."

She gave a cold laugh, "I was chosen because you thought I would be easily manipulated. But I'm not apathetic anymore, and I'm certainly not neutral. My parents were, and it got them killed." A realization suddenly hit her with the force of a physical blow, "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? The reason you let so many people suffer? You thought you'd let the war play out and then victimize one person to send back in time and fix all the mistakes. Why would I want to be your sacrifice, take an untested potion," a new thought occurred to her, "And wouldn't this create some sort of paradox?"

Ignoring her accusations, Dumbledore replied steadily, "The late Professor Snape assured me that the compound of dried thyme, dove's feathers, and asphodel would anchor you in that era and timeline, allowing you to make alterations without the creation of a paradox."

Daphne did not find this thought remotely comforting. "And when I'm born? What will happen if I already exist when I'm born? " She firmly closed the lid of the chest just shy of slamming it, rising from the floor with righteous anger.

"We have no way of knowing," the former Headmaster admitted sombrely. He watched as she gathered her thin cloak in trembling hands, wrapping it around her shoulders before stalking to the door of his office. Just as she heatedly yanked open the door, wishing she could rip it from its hinges, the portrait behind her finally answered her question, "You will agree to my proposition because it will save your family."

Back to him, shoulders hunched, against her own will she found herself pausing in the doorway, turning his words over and over in her mind. Reluctantly, she shut the door with a faint click, all fight gone. Leaning her forehead against the solid wood, she felt the anger drain from her body, leaving her the tired, worn, hungry girl she had been for the last year and a half. Though she refused to turn and face the former Headmaster, she knew he heard her whispered response: "How?"

She was hooked and Dumbledore reeled her in with practiced ease. "If you succeed in preventing the Second Wizarding War, your parents will not be killed, and your sister Astoria will complete her education and live a normal life," he persuaded. "If something goes wrong, if the potion fails or you cannot alter the timeline, she will remain here at Hogwarts and complete her instruction so as to integrate successfully back into magical society." He had pushed the right buttons, used all the best lines, made promises she could not refuse.

"Fine," Daphne murmured against the cool wood of the door, "I'll do it."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I wanted to get the second chapter up right away in order to draw in readers because the pairing is a little unusual; however, in the future updates will not be daily. This chapter has been a little angsty, but things will pick up soon. Admittedly, this isn't a story full of fluff, so if you're looking for something PWP, I don't recommend reading on. Also, since I have an English degree, I will not be using a beta. Leave a review if you feel up to it.


	3. An Adequate Acquaintance

**Disclaimer:** Anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. I receive no profit from this work

Chapter Three: An Adequate Acquaintance

_"Only the dead have seen the end of war" Plato._

Upon Daphne's hesitant acquiescence, things had gone much more smoothly. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore had directed her to a piece of parchment on the Headmistress's desk, a list of everything that needed to be sorted before she could take the potion. He also informed her that Astoria would be welcome at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer and was at that very moment being shown to her dormitory by the kindly matron Madam Pomfrey. And now, on her way down to the entrance hall to meet some sort of mysterious wizard who would escort her on her tasks—most likely to make sure she did not change her mind and escape back into hiding—she could not quite grasp the seriousness of her situation. The world felt blurred and unreal, like she was walking underwater as she drew her worn cloak more tightly over her ridiculous jumper and approached the figure backlit by the open front doors.

Drawing closer, she realized it was a woman, facing away from her and gazing out onto the grounds while volunteer workers rushed about, waving wands and repairing the damages done to the castle during the final battle. Her voluminous, gently waving hair was a mousy brown in colour, and from behind, Daphne mistook her for a more attractive Hermione Granger. However, upon hearing her footsteps, the woman turned to face her, shocking her most severely to the point where she stopped in her tracks. During her time on the run, she had heard pirate radio reports about Bellatrix Lestrange, the most recent having been a Potterwatch biography accompanying the coverage of her death, but she had only met the woman once, on the night of her parents' murders. A rational part of her knew the woman standing before her could not be Bellatrix, but she took in the high cheekbones, pointed nose, and dark eyes while an illogical tingle of fear ran up her spine, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand. Then she noticed the child the woman clutched in her arms, and the terror intensified tenfold as she imagined the plans a killer like Bellatrix could have for it.

The woman seemed to take no notice, shifting the toddler to her hip and freeing her hand to offer with the introduction, "Hello, my name is Andromeda Tonks, and you must be Daphne Greengrass." Her voice was pleasant, not the high, cruel mockery of the woman she resembled so greatly, but in her fright Daphne did not note this.

"L-Lestrange," she stammered impolitely, frozen in place.

The woman laughed nervously. "This seems to happen a lot. My maiden name is Black; Bellatrix Lestrange was my older sister. It's an honest mistake," she comforted as Daphne felt dismay cause red heat to blossom across her cheeks. Upon closer inspection, Andromeda's face was heart shaped and kind with an understand smile on her rose coloured lips and laugh lines by eyes which gave the impression of being fathomlessly old. She seemed deeply weary, though she dutifully bounced the child on her hip, who burbled and laughed in response. The small boy was cherubic and happy with a shock of unusual turquoise hair. Both she and the child were dressed in muggle clothing.

Apologizing softly, Daphne shook her hand. "Dumbledore told me you would be my escort to Gringotts and Diagon Alley." She withdrew the parchment containing the list from inside her cloak, and Andromeda nodded affirmation, descending the Hogwarts steps and calling for her follow.

They walked through the grounds in uncomfortable silence, despite several attempts at small talk by Andromeda. It was a gorgeous summer day, and Daphne watched with relative disinterest as the workers levitated large pieces of stone up to the Astronomy tower. After the drawn out argument with Dumbledore, she felt no inclination to talk, instead preferring to stew in her own thoughts. Andromeda Tonks. The name seemed familiar to her. Suddenly, she remembered the ledger labelled, "Andromeda Black." This must have been the same woman, and she had—remarkably it seemed—survived both Wizarding Wars relatively unscathed. Daphne felt a mixture of admiration and resentment at being in the presence of a war hero who had lived to care for a baby, especially since she herself had hidden from the war but still lost both her parents. Her years of training in pureblood etiquette told her that she should engage the other woman in discussion with polite questions about the child, but the only query she could think of involved his curious hair colour. Rather, she turned to contemplate the unpleasant tasks ahead of her.

When they passed through the high wrought iron gate and reached the apparition point beyond, Andromeda spoke again, this time somewhat self-consciously. "Dumbledore informed me that you never completed your sixth and seventh years or took the apparition class. Do you know how to apparate?" She seemed embarrassed to admit she had spoken with the former Headmaster about Daphne and troubled to be asking such a personal question of a stranger.

"Not legally," Daphne muttered darkly, subconsciously ducking her head to hide behind her stringy pale hair as she did so.

Unperturbed, Andromeda offered her arm, shifting the child to hold him more firmly. "Then, if you don't mind, we can side-along." The statement was matter-of-fact, and the tone insinuated that even if Daphne did mind, she did not have much choice in the matter. Briefly, she contemplated refusing, concocting an entire scenario in her head in which she attempted to flee and the kindly woman stunned her into submission. The whole imagined incident lacked dignity, so she conceded with some reluctance, as was becoming the theme of her day.

Gripping the other woman's elbow, she beseeched with uncertainty, "You can do that? Side-along with two people, I mean? When one of them is a kid?" She had never heard of anyone doing so, not even a particularly powerful wizard such as Albus Dumbledore. Surely it was not safe.

"I learned during the war," Andromeda murmured and her nebulous eyes spoke volumes. Daphne tried to envision all that simple sentence implied: apparating injured and dead away from battles, holding broken bodies together in a desperate bid to get them to medical attention, harbouring fugitives and families alike, trying to save innocent children from the fate of their parents. The thought terrified her as well as the knowledge that she would be going back to join that time and witness those brutalities in the desperate hope of saving just a few more people than before. It was a fool's errand.

"Oh." She replied awkwardly for lack of meaningful response. Andromeda did not seem to expect one, for she nodded curtly, stepping into a turn and with a loud pop whisked them all away.

* * *

For the most part, Gringotts Wizarding Bank was the same as Daphne remembered it. The outside remained an imposing multistoried building of snow white marble with a set of pearly steps leading up to burnished bronze doors flanked by a grizzled goblin in a scarlet and gold uniform. Beyond the facade was a small entrance hall that appeared to have been carved from granite. On the far end of the entrance hall existed another set of less ornate silver doors upon which were engraved:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there._

Through these doors, bordered by two uniformed goblins, lay the vast marble main hall. The huge vaulted ceilings allowed natural light to filter in from stained glass windows set high in the white dome. Tall stone counters stretched along the length of the entire hall with around a hundred goblins sitting at them, staring down their pointed noses at the wizards for whom they preformed transactions. Behind the counters were several nondescript doors leading to the vault passageways below. For some reason, she could not help but find the whole place to be rather unsettling. It was a representation of rampant greed and social hierarchy based on blood, a failing system she had been raised to believe in. It was an archaic symbol of the antiquated glory of the wizarding world, which was now dying unless she could stop it. And she highly doubted she could.

It had taken a decidedly sinister looking goblin named Ragnarok only a matter of minutes to weigh her wand and determine her identity as the heir to the Greengrass fortune. It was unduly troubling, the fact that she would only be the beneficiary to her rightful wealth for one day before she was either killed in a freak potions accident, rocketed nearly twenty years back in time, or ceased to exist altogether. Her father had died attempting to protect his business and affluence; it seemed unfair that she would not be given time to squander it appropriately. She hoped Astoria would not be overwhelmed financially, and not for the first time, felt a pang of longing at the thought of leaving her sister completely alone in the world. Her only minute consolation was that she would be just as lonely should the potion work and she make it to 1976.

She sat quietly next to Andromeda and the boy in a mining cart barrelling at top speed down the steep underground tracks through the dark caverns to her family vault, Ragnarok seated behind them, which provided little to no comfort. They careened around corners that seemed to come out of nowhere in the dim torch light of the wet caves; the dripping stalactites gave the feel of hurtling into the open maw of a slumbering beast. In the gloom ahead of them, she could hear a growing roar reminiscent of a dragon, though she could not make out its origin. At the last moment, she was able to distinguish the source: a brackish waterfall crashing down mercilessly onto the tracks ahead. Seconds before they plunged headlong into it, she heard Ragnarok scream with manic glee, but then her ears were filled with an overwhelming thunder as the cart thrust through the deadly falls.

It was over in a moment, though it left her disoriented for some time longer. Behind her, the goblin was explaining that the Thief's Downfall was a defensive enchantment used to cancel all magical concealments, but she was too busy marvelling at the fact that she had escaped, dry and in one piece. This, she realized, would only be the first time within the course of her assignment that she faced what appeared to be certain death. The truth was that she would not only face it but consign others to it many times over. Now more than ever, speeding through a maze of twisting passages that went on for kilometers below the roads of Wizarding Britain, she felt like a small child, too insignificant and frightened for the role she had accepted.

Just as she thought she had finally scraped her calamitous thoughts together, her mouth appeared to have other ideas as she turned to the woman escorting her and blurted the most insignificant question on her mind, "Why does your son have green hair?" It came out shrill and impolite, a shriek bordering on hysteria unfit for a pureblood.

Andromeda seemed slightly alarmed, though more so by her tone than the actual question, which she answered openly and without hesitation: "Teddy is a metamorphmagus." The child must have recognized his name, for he burbled and clapped his chubby hands, colour spreading from the roots to the ends of his hair as it turned purple.

Daphne's rudeness did not stop there, "Are you?" The cart was noticeably slowing, and she found herself desperately attempting to satisfy her curiosity before her time with Andromeda came to an end. She could not be sure she would ever see the woman again, and that understanding was followed by an unfamiliar rush of feeling, an unexpected fondness for her escort who had neither treated her like a prisoner nor a child and had not tried to interrogate her about her emotions like some bloody Gryffindor.

The brakes on the mining cart screeched horribly, throwing up sparks against the rails as it lurched to a halt in front of Vault 726. Hopping out, the bow-legged goblin bounded eagerly over to the imposing vault door, leaving the two women to follow carefully. The door itself was nearly nine feet tall and made of a dark metal that seemed to draw all light inward like a black hole. It was covered with a sequence of timeworn runes and a complicated series of pin and barrel locks that looked more like a muggle Rube Goldberg device than anything else. However, no key was required as Ragnarok pressed his long, brown fingers to the door, and it melted away under his touch. Inside, stacked nearly to the ceiling, were bags of galleons, the spoils of her father's business and the reward for blood purity. The goblin easily split the vault down the middle and began hauling out half of the sacks so that Daphne could magically shrink them down and hide them safely within an expensive mokeskin pouch she pulled from within her cloak. It had originally belonged to her father, and she had carried it ever since his death, hiding within it everything sacred she still possessed.

The process took some time, and she had nearly forgotten her question when Andromeda tentatively spoke up, "No, but his mother was." Daphne frowned for a moment before understanding hit her painfully. "Teddy is my grandson," her escort murmured.

Pointedly ignoring the implications of a woman describing her daughter in the past tense, Daphne inquired in an airy tone that was in direct opposition of her tumultuous thoughts, "Isn't being a metamorphmagus hereditary? Is your husband one?"

Andromeda gave an ambiguous head jerk. After a moment's pause, she answered in a strained but matter-of-fact tone, "No, Ted was a muggleborn. He was killed by Snatchers last year, shortly after my daughter's wedding."

Oh. Daphne fought down her knee-jerk reaction—that a pureblood from the noble and ancient house of Black would stoop to marry a muggle—in favour of sympathy for the woman she inexplicably respected. Suddenly, the deep lines in her face and the fathomless eyes seemed justified. "Seems like today is a busy one to be babysitting," Daphne replied lightly, motioning first to the imposing vault and then Andromeda's grandson.

"My daughter and her husband were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts," she stated bluntly, bouncing baby Teddy on her hip once more.

Ragnarok hauled the last sack of galleons from Daphne's half of the family vault and deposited it in front of her, turning to run his fingers—which she found to be excessively creepy—over the doorframe. She shrank the last of her inheritance and deposited the knut sized bag into her mokeskin pouch, which she tucked back into the secure inner pocket of her cloak. The imposing door rematerialized, once again sealing off Vault 726 and sucking most of the torch light from the cavern with its obsidian coloured metal.

"Both of them?" Daphne asked Andromeda in a small voice as they climbed into the mining cart, which jerked into motion once again in order to bring them back to the surface.

Andromeda only nodded. Apparently, she had not survived the wars unscathed. She may have lived, but she had paid the terrible price of the people she loved. Her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law, her sister—though Bellatrix had, arguably, been evil. The woman was almost completely alone in the world, raising her orphaned grandson by herself. Daphne's respect for her escort doubled as she empathized. Attempting to nurture her sixteen year old sister and supplement a magical education while living in the woods was not exactly undemanding; the tent was often wet, the food was bland and scarce, and warmth was hard to come by. Andromeda cared for her grandchild and more, following Dumbledore's orders to prepare Daphne for what lay ahead.

The ride back to the main hall of Gringotts was anticlimactic and quiet save for the air rushing past as the mining care sped up the tracks. Daphne was once again lost in thought when she felt Andromeda's thin hand clasp her own, pulling her out of her deep reverie. When she glanced at the older woman confusedly, her dark eyes were large with pleading, threatening to swallow her up. Uneasily and with a fair bit of awkwardness, Daphne gave her escort's hand a light squeeze, hoping to convey some sort of comfort but feeling out of her depth. The second Andromeda's grip loosened, she snatched away her extremity.

Andromeda spoke in a soft voice full of yearning, unaware of her distress, "When you go back..." This was the first time the woman had acknowledged the details of Dumbledore's plan, and her mournful tone sent a shiver down Daphne's spine. "Well, if you meet Ted and me, I know our... relationship... is probably against what you believe in," she murmured cautiously, her voice barely audible over the racing of air and screeching of the cart's wheels on the old track, "But please, don't change it. His blood status never mattered to me. I would rather have had him with me for only thirty years and lost him than to have never loved him."

Neither woman spoke again until they had returned to the white marble of Gringotts' main hall and trekked out into the commotion of Diagon Alley to finish their list of tasks.

* * *

At the Hogwarts entrance hall, Daphne and Andromeda parted ways, the latter heading off towards the stone gargoyle that hid the Headmistress's office while the former hefted her shopping bags and made for the infirmary as per the directions on Dumbledore's parchment. She knocked softly on the door to the hospital wing while letting herself in and could not help feel surprise and a melancholy warmth at what she found there. Madam Pomfrey was bustling about, as she always had been when Daphne had attended school, checking her potions cabinet and making notes. Sitting cross-legged on one of the pristine white hospital beds nearby was Astoria, who seemed to be enjoying a late lunch. Her sister looked much healthier than when Daphne had left, her dark chestnut hair and milky skin now completely clean and a rosy tint returning to her cheeks. The companionable silence between the matron and the young girl filled Daphne with bittersweet emotions: the reassurance that her sister would be well cared for in her absence and the agony of the knowledge that she herself would not be returning.

Upon hearing her knock, Madam Pomfrey glanced up from her parchment and greeted Daphne with a kind smile, ushering her farther into the infirmary and instructing her to lay her cloak and bags on the bed next to the one Astoria occupied. Abandoning her inventory, the Hogwarts matron fussed with the contents of the shopping bags, unpacking them and receiving each item with an approving nod.

"Where have you been?" Astoria interrupted the activity, leaning precariously off her bed to peer curiously at the supplies within the satchels. She was fine boned and haughty like every Slytherin worthy of the title ought to be, but within her deep blue eyes hid a bubbly spark and the shine of intense eagerness. Despite being nearly seventeen, she could not help but perpetually be a bright, inquisitive child in Daphne's mind.

"Meeting with Dumbledore, of course," she stated the obvious and rolled her eyes at her sister, attempting to hide the truth of the affair. "C'mon, Hinkypunk," she pointedly used the affectionate pet name her father had coined when they were children, weighed down by guilt at employing it to deliberately beguile the girl, "I told you all about it this morning." Like the magical creature of her sister's moniker, she hid behind the smoky facade in order to lure Astoria further into her deception.

The girl took no notice, waving away the light admonishment, "But why did it take so long just for Dumbledore to tell you he's letting me back in the school?" She grinned widely in barely suppressed glee at the notion. Daphne wistfully wondered if perhaps, in another world, her sister would have been more successful in a different house.

Madam Pomfrey cut off both the question and her idle thoughts by handing her a white hospital gown and ordering her to change into it. Thankful she would not have to answer the younger girl's all too pertinent query, she did as told with only a small twinge of displeasure, and when she lay her dirty jeans and jumper on the bed beside her cloak, the matron hit her with a rather unexpected and harsh cleansing spell. She could feel her hair and skin protesting as some invisible force scrubbed her rosy, lifting nearly a year's worth of ingrained dirt from her pores and beneath her fingernails. By the time the spell ceased, her skin was raw and pink, her pale blonde hair was straw-like with static, and her temperament was less than cheerful.

"Hand me that bottle, dear," Madam Pomfrey directed Astoria, conjuring a wooden stool while motioning to the jade glass decanter of Dunstan Dagworth's Restorative Hair Dittany, which had taken Andromeda and Daphne over an hour to find in the shops of Diagon Alley and cost a small fortune. Her sister did as told, watching in amusement as Daphne was pushed down onto the stool with her back to the matron.

She heard the cork pop and then felt the cold liquid poured over her head as Madam Pomfrey slathered it onto her wavy tresses, merrily explaining, "This should reverse all the damage caused to your poor hair during your time on the run. It isn't designed for anything other than to make it healthy, mind you. You won't suddenly have perfect hair if you didn't before." She warned while massaging the brown liquid into Daphne's scalp. She grimaced, and her sister collapsed in a fit of giggles at her expense.

"_Your _hair looks fine," Daphne groused, "Why didn't she have to do this to you?"

Astoria scowled and stuck out her tongue. "She did, but she only needed essence of knotgrass for mine. It wasn't nearly so bad as yours," she teased. Without looking up from the saturated blonde locks, the matron used a wand flick to send a mortar and pestle sailing towards the girl, instructing her to grind together the mandrake leaves and valerian root in Daphne's bags. She obliged cheerily, shooting her older sister an impish grin.

Daphne refrained from disclosing exactly why she required more maintenance than her sister had in order to resemble anything remotely close to her school days. The fact of the matter was that when food, shelter, and water had been scarce, the needs of the younger girl had always gone first, mainly at Daphne's expense. She had made sure that Astoria never lacked a full belly, warmth, or hydration, even if it meant that she would go without. As the months in hiding had worn on, this was often the case. Her sister may have had some inkling as to the truth, but she would never confirm it.

Madam Pomfrey ordered Daphne, in no uncertain terms, to stay seated and allow the dittany to soak in. Meanwhile, the matron mixed the crushed mandrake and valerian into the small carafe of pale blue syrup of Hellbore that Daphne's shopping bag had contained. Stirring until it was a thick, emerald paste, she held the contents up to the light filtering in from a large window, frowning slightly. She removed the tiny phial of violet liquid from the same apothecary's bag that had held the other raw potion's ingredients, and holding the salve at eye level, carefully mixed it in.

Astoria watched in fascination, and her eyes grew wide as the concoction became a muddy crimson. "What was that purple stuff?"

"Agrippa," her older sister answered rather testily as the matron set the flagon of balm aside and began using her wand to siphon the dittany out of Daphne's hair. She was certain her blonde curls would never smell the same after all this. "And it was damn expensive too. That sludge had better work."

Astoria set her lunch tray aside, sliding off her place on the pristine white hospital bed in order to more closely inspect the jar of salve, turning it in her hands this way and that to watch it catch the light. "What's it supposed to do?"

"Rub it on your sister's face and hands," Madam Pomfrey instructed from behind Daphne where she was still attempting to remove the sticky, brown dittany. "It needs time to set." The younger girl obliged with a mischievous smile that Daphne found most disconcerting.

After a decidedly uncomfortable half hour of allowing her body to soak in several foul substances followed by additional tedious cleaning spells, she was feeling more hygienic than she had in at least a year, albeit rather tender. Settling around her shoulders after a drying spell, her hair did not hang heavily in limp, greasy sheets anymore but rather lightly bounced in long, pale blonde waves. The matron eagerly pushed a hand mirror on her, obviously pleased by the results. Steeling herself for some unknown horror, Daphne gazed at her reflection. The tension lines she had become so used to were gone, as were the wrinkled and small white scars which had marred her face and aged her well beyond her years. Her skin was milky and smooth, with plump lips that had regained their softness and rose colour. However, much of the cold beauty she had possessed in her school days had also vanished, replaced by a woman that may have been elegant and enticing were it not for the guarded suspicion in her icy blue eyes and haughty point of her nose.

"There," Madam Pomfrey smiled in satisfaction, taking back the mirror and stowing it in a bedside table, "You look nearly twenty again." The matron glanced at the clock on the wall, and her face abruptly fell. "It's almost time for you to be going," she murmured, excusing herself to bustle into her office and firmly shut the door, giving Daphne and Astoria some not-so-subtle privacy.

The younger girl was once again reclining on the bed, chocolate brown tresses tumbling around her face, which acquired a confused expression as her brows knit together, "Where are you going? Aren't you coming back to school with me?"

Daphne sighed, pulling on her discarded clothes, "No, I guess I'm not." Astoria opened her mouth to protest, but she cut her off, "It's not because I don't want to. I'd love to stay here with you, but Dumbledore's given me a... mission. And I've got to go away for a while." She could not bring herself to meet her sister's eyes as they discussed her betrayal, instead gathering up her cloak and bags.

"Where are you going?" the girl repeated, voice coloured in alarm. "How long will you be away?"

"I can't tell you where I'm going," Daphne murmured. "It's all big, secret, important stuff." Astoria visibly pouted, but the older woman just hefted herself up onto the bed to sit next to her, letting her silky blonde hair swing down to form a protective curtain between them while she voiced her next lie, "I won't be gone for long; I've just got to take care of a few things first, but then you'll be seeing me again before you know it."

She felt the younger girl relax slightly beside her. "You sure?" Her subdued manner was at odds with her usually vibrant character, and Daphne felt another pang of longing, desperation and self loathing all twisted together in her gut.

"Of course I will," she nearly choked, finding her Slytherin composure very nearly out of reach but managing to grasp onto it at the last second. "And in the mean time, I'll be watching, so you better get good grades and not date any Hufflepuffs." This line served its purpose, producing a small giggle from Astoria.

When the strained laughter had subsided, she asked one more question in a small, childlike voice, as if needing absolute affirmation, "You won't leave me completely?"

The last bit of deception slipped from her lips too easily, "No, 'Punk, I'd never do that. I'll always be here."

At which moment, Andromeda Tonks pushed open the heavy oak doors to the hospital wing, motioning to Daphne and calling softly, "It's time."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Five points to anyone who knows the source of the goblin's name. This chapter took a while to write because I had a tissue graft surgery which left me sedated for several days. I'm still not pleased with it. My younger brother and I are extremely close, so the ending with Astoria was very difficult for me to write.

Thank you to everyone willing to give this story a chance. I believe there is a pairing here, albeit an unusual one, so it will take a while to cultivate since I tend to go for the slow burn. I've had this plot bunny running around my mind for some time now, and I'd like to explore it. Thank you to those of you who have left reviews, and to those of you who haven't, please feel free to.


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